The First Time
by The Fairie Queen
Summary: The first time he saw Yuuri, Otabek was eight. Yuuri was five. Oneshot drabble of when the little knight met the fairy.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Yuri! On Ice. But I definitely love these two.

Just a little oneshot drabble of how I think Yuuri and Otabek may have met.

* * *

The first time he saw Yuuri, Otabek was eight. Yuuri was five.

Otabek was a quiet little boy. He tended to have a brooding expression, and the other children were easily intimidated by him. It did not help that Otabek was easily frustrated in his dance class, as he was as graceless as a duck with two left feet. He was nothing like the swan his parents wished for him to be.

Otabek gripped the bar in the dance studio tightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. He hated ballet – he didn't enjoy it like he did skating. He just wanted to skate, but no, his parents had enrolled him in a dumb ballet class that had only led to embarrassment and frustration. _"It's the best dance school in all of Russia,"_ They had told him, before shipping him off to live with his uncle. _"When you return to Kazakhstan, we will discuss ice skating."_

The bar felt cold beneath Otabek's grasp, and his balance wavered. He was not flexible, and poorly coordinated. He was nothing like the other children in the class. He was nothing like _Yuuri._

The two children had never talked. Otabek always saw Yuuri though, with his silky blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. The young boy was small, and dainty; Otabek would have easily taken Yuuri to be a girl had he not been wearing a boy's dance uniform. Everything from unblemished porcelain skin to the graceful poise Yuuri exhibited screamed of a feminine, angelic energy that Otabek could never even dream of acquiring.

Rarely did Yuuri speak. He did not need to, as his eyes were all the expression he needed. Fierce passion and unyielding determination lingered in those large, innocent eyes; they were piercing emeralds that peered from beneath pale yellow curtains, and more than once they had interlocked with Otabkek's dark brown irises. Usually, the gaze would linger, until Yuuri would look away to focus on his dancing. Otabek usually tripped.

It was a particularly rough day when Otabek snapped. He could get his positioning right for a dance sequence he was learning, and continued to stumble about like a blind, newborn calf. His instructor was frustrated. Otabek was frustrated. The class giggled.

Unable to take it, Otabek ran out of the dance studio.

He did not run far – only far enough so that he could block out the surprised laughter from the other children, and the irritable instructor who called after him. Otabek could not bare it though; the humiliation and anger he felt was nearly suffocating, and all he wanted to do was _skate_. Why had it been such a difficult request to have fulfilled?

Otabek painted, grasping at his knees as he bent over in the hallway. He was tired and exhausted. His instructor would call his uncle, and his uncle would call his parents. He would never get ice skating lessons then.

Bitter from the realization, Otabek shut his eyes tightly. Any child would have cried, but he could not even do _that_ right.

"Oi!"

The voice startled Otabek, and he looked over suddenly. Unexpectedly, he was greeted by two emerald irises, fiery and blazing like scalding gems.

Yuuri stared at Otabek, with an intense expression on his beautiful little face. His brows were furrowed as though he appeared angry, and his small, dainty body was tense.

Otabek stood, unsure of what to say. He had never spoken to Yuuri directly, and he wondered if the smaller child had come to laugh at him as well.

"Are you running away?"

The words came out suddenly, and were spoken by none other than Yuuri's high tenor in an accusatory fashion.

Otabek frowned, inmmediately becoming defensive. "I can't dance."

Something passed over Yuuri's expression, and his frown depended. "That's a stupid excuse!"

Fists balling, Otabek's shoulders trembled. Why was Yuuri speaking to him in such a way, as though he understood what Otabek was going through? Why was Yuuri bothering? Did he intend to make Otabek feel worse?

Before Otabek could ask, the other little boy's words continued to pool out in a passionate cadence. "Only quitters run away! You're not a quitter!"

Otabek froze, his brown eyes shocked. Yuuri was panting softly, as he his tiny voice had crescendoed in the hallway, reaching a volume that the child was not used to demonstrating.

A few moments passed, and neither children spoke.

Then, Yuuri held out his hand. His ivory cheeks were flushed, and his eyes continued to burn like two green flames. A determined expression remained on his face.

Otabek stared at the hand that had been extended to him. His eyes were pensive, and his frown gone. Finally, he took Yuuri's hand.

"Okay." 

* * *

At eighteen-years-old, Otabek had secured a spot in the Grand Prix Finals. After years of dedicated practice, the young man had finally earned his way into the competitive world of men's figure skating, and was now representing his home country of Kazakhstan in one of the most crucial moments of his life.

He was at the edge of the rink, his coach giving him a few last pointers. The uniform he wore felt stiff, and despite the coolness of the ice rink Otabek felt suffocatingly hot.

There was the cheering of the audience. The high pitched frequency of megaphones. The sound of his skates scratching against the ice.

"Davai!"

Otabek turned, brown eyes looking up. Somehow, someway, that voice pierced through the audience.

Catching a pair of emerald irises, Otabek kept his expression neutral, and offered a thumbs up.

From the stands, Yuuri smiled.


End file.
